


Gypsy

by Ms_Faith



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Maya Hart/Riley Matthews Endgame, Minor Lucas Friar/Riley Matthews, Multi, Other, Past Abuse, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Faith/pseuds/Ms_Faith
Summary: "So I'm back to the velvet undergroundBack to the floor that I loveTo a room with some lace and paper flowersBack to the gypsy that I wasTo the gypsy that I was"





	Gypsy

**Author's Note:**

> So, I haven't written in 11 months, ha. Well, here I am. This story is personal and therapeutic. Please treat it kindly. This first chapter isn't so bad, but I can't say the same for the rest of this story. I'll give warnings when warranted. Enjoy. I own nothing you can recognize.

She could feel the blood running down the side of her face. Her vision was getting cloudy and voices were echoing all around her. She knew the voices were there to help, but she couldn’t speak. Sirens and flashing lights surrounded and overwhelmed her then. A tightness could be felt in her stomach as her throat began to close. That's when her world went dark and silent. 

Maya jolted awake. She was covered in cool sweat and panting like she’d ran a marathon. The room was cold with moonlight streaming in through sheer curtains. She sat up with a ragged breath and attempted to rub the stiffness from her neck. She grabbed the notebook and pen from the bedside drawer before taking a glance at the time.  _ 4:35 AM _ shone in a cool, yet bright, blue on the  clockface . She quickly flipped the notebook open and turned to a blank page. In the top left she wrote the date and time before moving to the lines to record the dream she’d just had. 

Once finishing the entry, Maya became uncomfortably aware of the biological response she’d had to the dream. “Shit,” she muttered feeling the wetness of her pants and sheets. 

Stashing the notebook and pen away, she stood and quickly stripped the bed along with her pajama pants and underwear. She gathered the soiled items up and tossed them into the laundry hamper before crossing into the en-suite bathroom. 

She started a shower before turning to switch on the Bluetooth speaker connected to her phone. It resumed the playlist she’d been blasting the night before with the opening chords of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Dreams’ floating out with thunderous volume. 

Moving around rhythmically to the beat, Maya pulled her faded and sleeveless Rolling Stones tee off. She stepped into the shower and closed the door behind her. 

The hot water hit the tender scar on her temple and she hissed at the pain it elicited. She adjusted the temperature and quickly bathed herself. She hummed to herself as she showered. Those hums turned into singing as she stepped out and wrapped a towel around her body. 

_ Now here I go again, I see, the crystal visions  _

_ I keep my visions to myself  _

_ It's only me  _

_ Who wants to wrap around your dreams and  _

_ Have you any dreams you'd like to sell? _

_ Dreams of loneliness... Like a heartbeat drives you mad... In the stillness of remembering  _

_ What you had  _

_ And _ _ what you lost... What you had... Ooh, what you lost _

Maya sang to herself as she dried off and dressed into workout clothes. She took her phone off charge and switched the music over to her earbuds. With a quick glance at the time,  _ 5:05 AM  _ read the stove, Maya grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter and dashed out of the apartment. 

Doing her usual three miles, the blonde jogged the park in the early morning light. It was almost six AM by time she finished the park’s trail. She walked home then and stopped for a coffee along the way. She took her last sip just before unlocking her door. She tossed the cup and then hopped onto the exercise bike parked in her living room. She did another three miles on the bike ensuring to get her heart rate up. Her stomach started clenching then and she knew a break was needed. 

Plopping down on the couch, Maya heard her phone ping from inside her pocket. It was notifying her of a voicemail from her mother, Katy. She tapped the notification and unlocked her phone accordingly. She listened to her mom’s message.

_ “Sweetie, tonight is the open mic at Topanga’s. We’d love it if you could be there. You've been home a month, Baby Girl. People  _ _ wanna _ _ see you. Your daddy and I really  _ _ wanna _ _ see you there. Think about it, please? Okay, hon. I love you. Take care.”  _

Katy had a mixed accent that Maya had inherited. It was part southern drawl and part average midwestern. It was an odd mix, but it was one both women had come to adore over the years. Not like they could change it,  after all . 

Once a month, Topanga’s hosted an open mic night. It was for singers and poets to come and strut their stuff. Maya had almost avoided the Matthews’ since she’d been back. Well, mostly  just Riley . Things hadn’t gone well the last they’d seen each other. 

Maya texted Katy a short response, “Will Riley be there?”

A few seconds later, the bubbles popped up to  signal that Katy was replying. “She’s the one who organizes the open mic, so yes. But she’s looking forward to seeing you, honey.”

With a shaky sigh, “I’ll try to be there. I have group today. If you’re lying, I’ll be upset. Please don’t be setting me up, mom.”

“I swear I’m not. You girls haven’t seen each other in almost three years. She wants to see you.” 

With a heavy huff, “Fine.”

++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++==

Group therapy was Maya’s least favorite thing. It shared a special place of hatred in Maya’s heart along with Narcotics Anonymous. At least her NA meetings had better snacks. Something about there being better snacks for addicts than abuse survivors... well, at least that was Maya’s working theory. 

“How many weeks now?” An older woman approached Maya before group. 

Blinking, “Um, forty-five days, so about five. I assume you’re referring to that,” she chuckled wryly. 

“I was,” the older woman smiled. “Congratulations, dear. I’m Cynthia, Chapter Director. Welcome,” Cynthia extended a hand and Maya took it to give a gentle shake. 

“ Gonna guess that my shrink gave you  intel on me.” The blonde joked as she poured herself a cup of water. 

Cynthia smiled kindly, “I have a file with pertinent info on all the girls here, Maya.” Placing a gentle hand to her shoulder, “You’re not the only one here who has a host of demons in their closet.” 

“Okay, everyone! Let's get started, shall we?” Another woman stood in the circle of chairs to start the meeting. Maya and Cynthia both took seats along with a few others who were standing and chatting. 

There were sixteen women, including Maya, within the group. A few smiled at her when they made eye contact, while a few others turned away quickly. One woman looked vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn’t figure out why. She did smile at her, so Maya assumed maybe they knew each other from somewhere. 

“Alright, ladies. We have a newbie with us tonight,” the woman looked to Maya who nodded slowly. “This is Maya, ladies.” The group then said, “Hello Maya,” in unison. 

“I’m Louise, Group Moderator. Nice to meet you!” Louise was bright and cheerful in her greeting. 

Maya smiled at everyone  politely , “Thanks.”

“We ask all new members to give us a little bio on themselves. However much or little you want to share. We just encourage you to share something,” Louise looked at Maya expectantly. 

With a nervous chuckle, “Well, I guess sharing a little won’t hurt.” She stood with a shaky breath. “My name is Maya and I am twenty-five years old. I am the frontwoman of a very popular Fleetwood Mac cover band that I formed my senior year of high school. We've performed all over and even have played for Stevie Nicks on two occasions; she’s a big fan of ours,” Maya laughed awkwardly then. “I love vodka and classic rock. I like my weed, but goddamn, am I crazy about my oxy, my blow... yeah, I'm an addict. Oh, and I'm an abuse survivor.  Kinda why I developed a drug problem in the first place.” She sniffled, “So, that’s me. Hey, I'm Maya.” 

“Good share, Maya,” Louise smiled gently. 

++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++==

Once the meeting concluded, the mystery girl approached Maya. “You probably don’t remember me, but I used to date Corey Folger. I'm Dina Robbins.”

The lightbulb went off in her head then, “Yes! I remember you!” The two hugged then. “How are you?”

“Well,” Dina started, “I’m here because of my ex-husband. You?”

“Ex-fiancé,” Maya cleared her throat. 

“We’re all a little broken here, Maya. The important thing is how we pull together those broken parts.” 

With tears welling, “Thanks.” Cynthia approached them then.

“I’ll see you later!” Dina said as she walked away.

“I have that info you asked for. All the doctors in here deal with abuse survivors and addicts,” Cynthia handed Maya a pamphlet. 

Looking over the list quickly, “Are there any Ob/Gyns that handle women like me?” Her voice cracked at the end. 

Cynthia eyed her for a moment, “There’s two I know of. Let me write down their contacts,” she said before producing a pen from her pocket and a napkin from the refreshment table. 

“There you go,” the older lady handed her the napkin with requested info written on it.

With an appreciative smile, “Thank you, Cynthia.” Just then her phone chimed. It was Katy.

“I have to go, thanks, again.”

“See you next week, Maya.”

“You too.” 

++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== ++== 

**Author's Note:**

> Songs: 'Dreams' by Fleetwood Mac
> 
> Resources:  
> SAMHSA’s National Helpline – 1-800-662-HELP (4357)  
> The National Domestic Violence Hotline - 1-800-799-7233


End file.
